Cinderella is Dead
by Mael1
Summary: Catch the rainbow in your hands before it burns your eyes, child. An (hopefully) origianl Harry/Tom romance. That means SLASH.
1. Alice

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead  
**Part:** 01/??  
**Pairing:** Harry/Tom (for now)  
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _i am not for children_  
**Rated:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Also, I haven't read "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" in a year and I don't own a copy. Heh, whatever. Enjoy. :) This is going to be fun.

He once dreamed he was Alice.

He hadn't been wearing the cute blue dress she had in the Disney creation of the tale. He had been wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. They were the newer ones; the ones where with the pants the belt was that the tightest notch possible and the t-shirt sleeves nearly brushed his wrists. He was sure he was growing, he was at that age after all, but Dudley's increasing large clothes only made his feel like he was still that same size as he was when he was eleven.

He felt he was lucky for not having the dress. Though, he almost preferred it to Dudley's clothes.

He once heard Hermione talking about how dreams where nothing more then the elements of your life jumbled around by your unconscious mind (she was probably scolding someone for believing in Trelawney too much). He figured, afterwards when he was awake, that was true. Hermione was rarely wrong and how else would one explain why his dream started off with him sitting under the Whomping Willow?

The tree had looked peaceful enough, but from previous experience, he didn't want to risk it. His dreaming mind was almost like his waking one it would seem. He hurried away from the tree and out onto the midnight blue grass of the yard outside of Hogwarts (he didn't question why the grass was blue). He kept a distrustful eye on the tree for a moment before turning fully away.

Only to be run over.

It was not the shock of a lifetime, that was for sure. He had real shocks before, so a bump only made him stumble a little. The real surprise was in who had bumped him.

Dobby.

Wearing bunny ears, a tailcoat with a golden pocket watch and a fluffy tail.

Really, he tried not to laugh.

Dobby's wide, rounded eyes took him in before he squealed and jumped away. The house elf turned rabbit fumbled to pull the watch out of his pocket. His fingers tightened on the timepiece as he made another terrible high-pitched sound.

"Dobby is late!" He yelled and took off again.

Harry, who should have had his fill of weird by now and pitched his arm to end the dream (a technique he was proud of being able to do), stared after the little creature for a moment before taking off after him. Curiosity licked at his mind, the kind of curiosity that only Hermione could surpass when she was in full research mode.

Dobby was fast for a small elf and Harry wasn't too much faster (which, would later seem strange to him). Dobby had jumped into a hole moments before Harry could catch up. Without really thinking (something that he was neither proud or unhappy about doing), he jumped in as well.

And had the fall of a lifetime.

He missed out on most of it. His t-shirt had become untucked from his pants and it flew up over his head. He lost it all together at one point, finger just missing grabbing it. The thought that he was falling, shirtless, with his pant legs fluttering up over his knees, was kind of disturbing, and he was happy when it was over.

He landed on his feet, which didn't even seem odd at the time. He could hear Dobby running and berating the horrible horrible lateness up ahead of him. He followed the sound.

The door, which Dobby had run through, was just big enough to be house elf sized. Harry figured, he could probably squeeze his way through, but the door wouldn't have it. It insisted that he take a shrinking potion before even trying.

Harry, seeing that he really couldn't go back the way he came, shrugged and looked for the potion.

He found it on a shelf. It had Snape's slightly slanted scribblings across the label (just instructions and warnings). He looked at the door, then the bottle, shrugged and took a drink.

He was the size of a house elf in no time.

The door was asleep when he got back to it. This annoyed him so much that he punched it in the nose (which, oddly enough, was the knob of the door). The door screamed and swung open, yelling about what a horrible boy he was.

What do doors know anyways?

He ran down the path. He had fallen quite a distance behind Dobby now, and probably didn't have much luck in catching up. Maybe, if he went in the same basic way, he'd figure out what the house elf was late for. Something that would make the journey worth taking.

He lost his ways at a crossroads. Not really wanting to stop, he took the right road and kept going. He knew his luck and he knew this probably wasn't the way that Dobby had gone, but he had to keep going in a direction for some reason.

So he kept going.

Until he ran across a table set up for tea. Half the table was full of dirty dishes and crumbs. The other half seemed still clean. Between these two halves were Dumbledore, Snape and Trelawney all sitting calmly holding cups of tea. Mice sized versions of Lavender and Parvati ran around Trelawney's saucer as she turned her cup and tried to drink her tea backwards.

Dumbledore wore a top hat with a playing card stuck in it with the picture of a Chocolate Frog.

Snape swatted at the mice whenever he got the chance too.

Harry stood for a moment, gawking. He almost sat down, but that was before he heard Dumbledore yell "Switch!" and watched his three professors stand up, move down one seat and sit down. Having seen this, he turned sharply on his heal and decided to try a different path.

By the time he had found the place Dobby had actually ran off too, he had experienced a crazy Hermione lady, a catty Draco and Ron lounging around as a caterpillar. He would never get those images out of his head.

He came across a bunch of rose bushes where Peter Pettigrew was scurrying around crying about the roses not being the right colour. Harry, not being like Alice and thus not feeling like he had to help every poor bastard he came across, watched.

Almost satisfying.

Pettigrew was almost done his last bush when, lo-and-behold, Lord Voldemort himself marched up wearing a dress similar to the one the Queen of Hearts had worn in the Disney version. Voldemort looked less like a snake and more like a well aged Tom Riddle in his dream (which, seemed odd, since he should have been dreaming about one form or the other). He had no qualms with just shouting at Pettigrew for a while before smacking him hard and ordering for his beheading.

Voldemort turned to him next and smiled. Not an "I'm so goddamnned evil that you should be pissing yourself at the sight of me" or a "why, hello" kind of smile. Harry couldn't really place a name on that smile.

He wondered if he wanted to.

He should.

Cause Voldemort, dress and all, walked right up to him, snogged him then ordered his guards to drag him off for his own beheading.

That's when he woke up.

For a moment he lay in his bed. It was early morning and everyone else in the room would be getting up soon. He stared upwards blindly (since, of course, he wasn't wearing his glasses) before he started to laugh.

Laugh and laugh and laugh.

_What would Freud say?_


	2. Dark Clouds

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead  
**Part:** 02/??  
**Pairing:** Harry/Tom (for now, someday or some part there many be more thrown in)  
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _i am not for children_  
**Rated:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. This part is a little shorter then I had planned it to be, but I'm still happy with it. Things are starting to coming together for my plot. Mwahaha. Thank you to all who have reviewed already, I loved the ego stroking. Enjoy the next part. :) 

There were a lot of pressures in large families. 

Or, at least, that was how it seemed. 

Harry wasn't a dense person; he just wasn't the fastest on the uptake sometimes. He once figured--quietly to himself as he mostly figured such things--that if he had glasses (thanks Dad), he might as well use them to keep an eye out. Moody and his life had made him slightly paranoid. It wasn't "constant vigilance"; he called it looking after friends. 

Fifth year had been tough on them. But, it seemed like every year got harder for the trio because whatever factors were in the wood works. There was always some bigger and nastier challenge to defeat or mystery to solve. It was almost like a video game that worked with the idea of levels. 

He supposed it was a good match up, considering the idea of years. 

In the time passing, he learned to keep an eye on Ron. He didn't mistrust the redhead, they just had more falling out periods then what he was use to (and, admittedly, he was only slightly better then horrid at the friendship thing). There was also something about the few that they had that made something in the back of his mind worry about his friend. It made his feel slightly better. 

And radically worse. 

The twins were nearly out of school in their fifth year. In their sixth (one they currently were in) there was only one other Weasley, Ginny. Ginny, like all her family before, was steadily making a name for herself within the memory of her parents with her good grades and even better attitude towards school. Ron still found it hard to just make average marks let alone exceed like every other brother and sister he had. 

It was wearing on him. 

In their sixth year, Ron was not on his way to being a prefect. 

His parents, being the kind of loving parent they were, would sometimes tell him that such things didn't matter. But he had seen the proof already that they did. He had seen it when he was younger with Percy. The Weasley's were an old, pureblood family, like the Malfoy's only without the old money. Pureblood families, from his experience, adored little bits of fame to their name. While the Weasley parents didn't show it like the Malfoy's, they loved those little bits of praise. 

Molly probably even liked the success of the twins' joke business. 

Harry could see the lines forming around Ron's eyes. They were more noticeable when Hermione came up with her studying schedules, making him look as nervous as Neville when facing Snape. Harry saw how his lip twitched to just smile at her sometimes. 

Something had faded from his friend. 

Ron didn't seem as less then he use to be. Just a little more worn, a little more tired then the years before. He was quieter too, keeping his head down more. The red head seemed to have calmed down as well, starting less fights with Malfoy. 

It was kind of creepy. 

Harry once wondered what other people saw of them. Him the Hero That Was And Is To Be (he loved the wizarding way of thinking sometimes), Hermione the Bookworm With Bite and Ron the Redhead. That ponder had made him feel horrible for his friend. What if that was the way he was seen? Would Ron drift away into darkness to never be noticed again someday? 

He wondered if he was seeing it now. 

Sometimes, late at night, Ron climb out of his bed and walk over to Harry's trunk. It was an unspoken thing between them that his invisibility cloak was for use between either of them. Ron would pull it out, wrap around himself and scurry out of the room (the first couple times he had done this, Harry had heard a whispered "sorry" in his direction). Where he went, Harry never asked. 

Ron always looked brighter after those nights. 

Whatever Ron did during those nights, Harry hoped that it never stopped. Real smiles were really hard to find now and days in Hogwarts. 

Harry looked up over the tables to gaze sidelong at the headmaster. Dumbledore was also looking aged these days and not in a good way. Before, Dumbledore had looked cheerful, now there was some kind of deadly seriousness hanging around him. He half expected the man to stand up and say, "It (He) is coming." Everyone thought it though, so it really didn't matter if it was said. 

"He is coming." 

And he'll be here tomorrow. 

Harry wasn't frightened. No one was yet. They would be tomorrow. They would be screaming tomorrow. But, today, they were just kids at school. Nothing more, nothing less. 

He hoped Ron would have his happy moment tonight. 

He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. His scar itched, but that had been commonplace for days now. He was getting use to it. He could handle it. 

He'll be here tomorrow. 

Harry left the Grand Hall after the majority of people had headed off to wherever a majority of people headed off to. He kept his head down as well. He didn't want anyone to see his scar. He didn't want that attention now, not when everything was so close to ending (or really beginning). 

He could hear murmurs, Malfoy's voice and someone who sounded like Ron. He didn't check it out. If it were Ron, he would let him to his business. Harry just wanted to curl up in his bed and get some good rest before the Dark Lord came. 

Maybe he would dream he was Alice again. 


	3. Burn

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead  
**Part:** 03/??  
**Pairing:** Harry/Tom (for now)  
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _i am not for children_  
**Rated:** R  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, just spell check. Forgive me for my errors. I got reviews. :P To those who are wondering, yes the insanity is coming up. Just wait for it. There's a lot to come 

Everything can happen within a blink of the eye. 

This was a principle that the wizarding world seemed to go by. From the moment he walked into it he had been amazed of how fast things could happen. Wizards had spells for everything and anything, and used them like they breathed air. The spells were often simple, since they had so much time to perfect them. 

It was almost creepy. 

He had gotten his first real taste of it when he walked into the Weasley's the first time. Mrs. Weasley used a wealth of cleaning spells on everything (which she probably needed considering she had raised the twins). She had the look of a normal housewife, but she barely even lifted a finger for anything (well, maybe a finger, since she did have to lift her wand every so often). 

It seemed like a waste. 

Harry himself barely used spells for anything. He usually didn't realize he could use spells for things. Hermione usually did the casting in their little group of friends, since she knew the most and had the most practice. Hermione was easy to depend on for small things like that. 

He sometimes wondered how other wizard family's worked and if they were like the Weasley's. He had never really been around others like he had with them. Did they use magic in the same way? 

Was that why muggles were looked down upon? 

He figured it was. Since muggles knew how to do the majority of things by hand that most wizards just cast a simple spell for, they must be the lesser ones. The workers, like house elves. Wizards must see themselves as the higher class in comparison. 

But most wizards knew nothing of the muggle world. 

Confusing. 

Attacks usually happened just as fast. It was surprising how simple the words for an Unforgivable was. Simple to remember, just a little bit harder to cast. Harry had never really tried, but he was sure he would be able to if he had. 

A wave of the wand and words. 

It was frightening. 

That was how Hogwarts was attacked. A wave of wands working together with clever words that brought everything down around their ears. It was brilliant how simple it was for the enemy to enter the halls, so brilliant that one could only wonder why they hadn't done such a thing before. There wasn't anything really special about the time of day or year; nothing had really been happening to make them weaker then any other time. Maybe the Dark Lord had just gotten bored. 

That was probably it. 

Harry wasn't with the other students as they ducked into the dungeons (a believed safe place for them). He wasn't with the teachers either as they tried to thin out the crowd of Death eaters entering Hogwarts. He was by himself, running into his room in Gryffindor tower to grab his cloak. He wanted to grab his photo album too, but he knew he couldn't carry that much. He just stuffed his pockets with the little things on his bedside table (things like his vault key, string and his watch). 

He pulled his cloak around himself and ran again. 

He hoped he would be able to get out of Hogwarts. He knew that he wasn't in any kind of shape to face the Dark Lord at the moment. He'd get eaten or something just as terrible. Currently, he enjoyed the act of breathing. He let his Slytherin side take over for the situation. Being a Gryffindor now would probably get him killed. 

He'd be Gryffindor later, when he was ready to face He Who Has Entirely Too Long Of Names. 

Now he pretended the hat had sorted him Slytherin. 

He still remembered most of the secret ways to get about the castle, even though he didn't have the map at the moment. His basic memory would have to be enough to get him out. He slid as quietly as possible (which was pretty quiet since he had gotten use to tip toeing around ones with good hearing like Snape) down hallways that were mostly pitch black and between the layers of the walls. The ground of these secret places was moist and the air always had an odd smell about it. 

He wasn't able to notice little things like that now. 

When he got out of the castle, he looked around quickly to see where the Death eaters were. There were shapes a little ways down on the lawn, but not too close to him. He could see the edge of the Forbidden Forest, which he could probably get too without too much trouble. He'd just keep away from tall grass and move quick. He didn't like the chances he could have in the forest, but his alternatives weren't looking too much better. 

He sprinted across the lawn, trying to drown out the sounds of screams with his own thoughts. He kept his eyes forward, not wanting to turn his head and see one his teachers laying dead on the ground. He really didn't know if someone screamed when the killing curse was cast, and he really didn't want to find out. 

He broke through the trees in no time and crunched onto some dry sticks. He realized that the current dry climate would make him traveling this way a little louder then he felt comfortable with. He would have to slow down his pace, and watch where he stepped if he wanted to go through this way. 

He just hoped there weren't Death eaters lurking behind the trees. 

Harry moved as fast as he dared, not really sure on where his direction was taking him. He wished he could find a helpful beast within the forest, but he didn't want to chance being seen without the cloak on. Anyways, there was very few creatures that a wizard couldn't really take. 

He never was really sure how big the forest was. It was probably the best time now to find out though. 

The attack had happened during the mid-day, so he could tell time was passing by the waning of sunlight. It was dark before he could see faint lights through the trees. He wondered if that was some kind of creature trying to lure him into its jaws, or if that was Hogsmeade. Once could see the forest from the town after all. Maybe that was the direction he was going in. 

Hogsmeade would be almost good for a place to rest. 

He had only needed to get away from Hogwarts for a while, after all. Surely, after a night in Hogsmeade, the teachers would have driven the Death eaters off and it would be safe for him to return with the story he would think up. He started planning that now, he had to make it good. He had enough time to make it good enough for even Snape to believe him. 

He was excited when he was nearing the edge of the forest. It hadn't been a creature, it was really Hogsmeade. 

He grinned. 

His face was slack though when he reached the edge of the forest. He stood there feeling cold all over as he gazed ahead. He fingernails dug deeply into the soft palms of his hands and he almost collapse from his weak knees. 

All from the sight. 

Hogsmeade was burning. 


	4. Slave

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead   
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Tom and Draco/Ron (I think that will be all....)   
**Warnings:** insanity? Not the humor kind, but real insanity. Angst, slash and sex. Blood and morbid themes. _I am not for children_   
**Rating:** R   
**Part:** 04/??  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Took a small break. Been trying to organize ideas for **The Boneyard Tree**, **Track 4**, **Suicide Club** and **And I Walk**, which are all book ideas of mine that I someday plan to write. Not getting too far. I might start writing something soon, so this might start going slower. Anyways, I want to write more of this because if I was a Harry/Draco or Harry/Ron type of girl, I'd be set. But I'm not; those parings are not sadistic enough ((Draco is better for Ron anyways)). I'm a Harry/Tom(Voldemort), Harry/Snape and Harry/Lucius kind of girl. Sadistic and jerky. Its beautiful *wipes away tear*. Otay, enough babble, lets go.

"Don't move." 

He twitched, but obeyed. It had taken him the longest time ever to just obey. At first, he would yell out that he didn't want to do whatever he was being told to do. His face would turn red and he'd bare his teeth. He had learned from the punishments after those times though. Every time he got angry, his reactions where just a little bit less then the time before. Eventually, all he really did was twitch. That was all he did now. 

He leaned back just a little more against the wall. It was dark, and now quiet. Earlier, when he had just been left on his own, there had been screams and yelled words. They had made his skin crawl and he worried that if someone found him, he might just be another one screaming. 

Of course, no one had found him. 

He had been hidden well. He himself was almost unsure about where exactly he was hidden as a matter of fact. He had the ability to disobey, he probably wouldn't be able to find his way away from the place he was. It was better for him to wait. 

Just wait. 

He did move of course, just never from the spot. He knew that he wasn't allowed to sit down, so he didn't even try that. He just shifted from foot to foot and breathed. Occasionally, he ran a hand through his hair or leaned against the wall so he could press his cheek against it. 

The screams had made his stomach roll and the cold helped him. 

He wondered why it was he had been left. He usually was dismissed when everything was said and done. In fact, he had never had that kind of order before, the "Don't move" kind. He had always been sent away to sleep, go to his classes or fetch something. 

_What is he doing?_

It was night now, and shadows seemed to lick at his shoes like it wanted to eat him. He wondered if it too needed an order to do something. Maybe it had its own free will? No, that couldn't be it. If it had a free will, it could have eaten him by now. 

He wondered what it felt like to be eaten. 

He moved his feet back just a little. He didn't like the idea of it chewing at his foot. His clothes were ratty enough without some shadow thinking he was part of a balanced meal. 

His back was pressed firmly against the wall when the other came back. Briefly he thought he was going to get in trouble for moving so far against the wall. He hadn't been told to avoid hungry shadows (which was probably all in his head anyways), he had just been told to now move. He had moved so much too. 

There were men in black behind the other. 

He knew what to do in situations like this. It had already happened in a little room off the Slytherin common room. It wasn't anything to fear, unless he got something wrong. But he wouldn't, getting something wrong in a situation like this could cost him his life. 

He bowed his head and laced his fingers together at the nape of his own neck. He waited until he heard fingers snap to drop onto his knees and move over (it was slow movement, since he had to kneel completely over and crawl on knees and elbows) to the one he took orders from. It was important that he not look up, that would be cause for an Unforgivable of the worst sort thrown right between his eyes (and he didn't want to find out if he could survive the Killing Curse like Harry could). He just leaned down more to kiss the hem of his "Master's" (who was truly his master) robe before moving it gently up and aside to kiss the shoes he himself had polished to a fine shine. 

He kept his body as low and small as he could. 

Eventually, after a lot of words (which he didn't listen to since listening when he was not being spoken to could get him in horrible kinds of trouble) the shoe had kissed lifted to slide under his chin. He felt pressure trying to get him to lift his face. He almost fought against it, seeing that was one of the things he was told to never do. Then again, he was told to never disobey either. 

He let his chin be lifted. 

The angle was odd. Everyone looked like giants compared to him. Their faces looked like the tops of towers and it almost made his sick to look. But he looked. They wanted him to look. 

Laughing eyes stared down at him. 

"Good job, Draco," the one to his Master's left said. The man was even taller and more frightening. He wanted to go hide in a corner, but he had to stay. He mustn't disobey. "One would never think of getting a Gryffindor down so low. Quite a feat." 

"I thought so," Draco said smugly, obviously proud of his work. It sounded like he talking about his latest Potions homework though, not like he was talking of a person. 

"I suppose you can keep him," a low voice drawled, "Just keep him out form underfoot." 

"Of course." 

The other men left at that, talking to each other. He still didn't hear the words being spoken; he just stared up at his Master. He was sure we wouldn't be allowed to do much more then that. He didn't really care to do much more then that. He liked the view. 

"We won." 

Down on his knees, Ron smiled. 


	5. Reality

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead   
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Tom and Draco/Ron (i think that will be all....)   
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _i am not for children_   
**Rating:** R   
**Part:** 05/??   
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** _I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Sorry for the space between updates, stumbled across the fact I really like Spike/Xander slash and its been eating my brain whole. On the up side, I have a ton of sadistic ideas now. :3  
There are quite a few people who have gotten spooked by the current goings on in the news about Harry Potter slash writers. Snaples, an author I admire and adore work wise, got spooked. I came from the anime community though. My first yaoi (slash) fandom was Gundam Wing, and a couple years back a mother sued a site, Ai No Kuusou. It was frightening then. The guy had proper warning pages up, like we all did, and he got sued. His host wouldn't keep him anymore. I miss Ai No Kuusou, it was a good site. This being my background, I'm not afraid that the conflict is a little bit louder and more open. Before, only people who were really regular visitors of Ai No Kuusou really missed it. Now, there are newspaper articles. Buck up, what can they really do to a bunch of broke writers who adore someone else's creation? Nothing really. There are more of us then there is of them. So fuck 'em.   
Now onto the fanfiction._

He didn't really know how long he was standing there with his mouth open. He jaw was like melted putty and hung heavy from his skull. His whole body was really the same way, all limp and waving in the wind. 

He sat on his knees, still staring forward. What he was seeing couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It was impossible. Unbelievable. It must be one of his terrible dreams, one of his nightmares that his roommates always complained about. He would wake up any moment now, sweating and breathing like he had run a marathon. Ron would be just across him, sitting up in his bed to check if he was okay. 

He would wake up now. 

Any moment now. 

He decided to take things into his own hands and do something. His one hand shot to the other to yank the skin between his thumb and index finger. He dug his fingers in hard when he realized that he wasn't waking up. He yanked and pulled and dug his nails in. This just couldn't be real. 

_It couldn't it couldn't it couldn't_

He started to sob when he realized that he wasn't going to wake up. A little piece of him hoped that the pinching rule was untrue, that it was just something that They (whoever They was) made you believe so that you couldn't escape bad dreams. That little piece still hoped that he would wake up soon. Dreams only last for twenty minutes, right? 

The large bit of him cried. 

The larger part of him realized the horror of the reality. That it was reality. That there was no turning back to make everything all right again. Things might just never be all right again. That he just might have lost everything he had really known and loved. 

They had lost. 

That had to be what the burning Hogsmeade meant. Hogsmeade was an all wizard type of town, a place where students joyfully waste money and adults grin at store windows. It was a haven for wizards it seemed. 

Now it was burning. 

He couldn't take his eyes off it. Zonko's was gone. They would never be able to pull the really good pranks again. Honeyduke's gone too. No more sweets to rotten their teeth and my Madam Poppy annoyed with. Everything. Gone. 

Gone. 

It was a symbol. Why else would they do it? Taking Hogwarts and Hogsmeade would surely make people afraid of what could happen next. No one would try to fight the Dark Lord after that. No one would ant to risk his or her families like that. 

No one would want to become like James and Lily. 

He stared blankly forward. Was there anything to fight for anymore? Was there any reason that he was around anymore? What would people think when they hear about this about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived? 

Would they lose hope like he was? 

He heard crunching of twigs from behind him and realized that he should have kept moving. He had left Hogwarts because he didn't want to die, it would be senseless to stay just outside Hogsmeade as if waiting for someone to come and get him. If he had kept moving, he could have gotten further away. Could have gotten somewhere safe. Cold have given people hope. 

His breath caught in his throat as he clung onto his cloak, still wrapped around him. He got up off his knees and backed away slowly. Almost like a frightened rabbit, ready to run at the first sight of a predators teeth (which was probably too late considering the kinds of predators he knew). He'd rather run into the flames consuming Hogsmeade then to face any one of his enemies at the moment. 

It sounded like a group coming towards him. 

Maybe he had left some traces in the forest to betray his escape. It was possible that his pant leg had caught on something, or his school robe, and had left a little bit of thread or cloth behind. Maybe he had left footprints as well, the forest floor was muddy in some places. Whatever it was, people had figured him out. 

He took another step backwards and turned slightly. Ready to run. 

He should have been running now. 

_Run run you fool!_

He stood almost frozen in place, one eye focused on the darkness just beyond the line of trees and the other on the burning Hogsmeade. Even his breath seemed suck in his throat. Like a deer in the headlights of a muggle car, he stood there. 

He dreaded what--WHO--would walk out of the forest. What--WHO--had come so far to get him. Something--someONE--terrible, probably. Something--someONE--that would rip him to shreds and carry the tasty bits back to the Dark Lord for trophies. 

He gulped and wished his body would obey him enough to take another step back. 

They came. 

From the forest emerged three men dressed in black. Death eaters, ones still wearing their smooth, slightly blood stained masks. They surrounded another man who wore robes that looked like it was something a Malfoy would wear; clean, and expensive looking, showing off who was truly the best. The man didn't looked to much taller then he was, or too much older then Snape (though, in comparison, Snape probably would look the older of the two). There was something about the black hair and red-flecked eyes that stuck out in his mind. There was something about the long boned hands and the air of superiority that should have made him run for the hills. 

But what was it? 

He stared for a moment or two before it hit him hard in the head. Almost literally, since his scar burned more now then before he had left. His jaw went slack again with the realization. 

Tom. 

_Tom_ **Riddle**. 

**_VOLDEMORT._**

His heart seized up in his throat and he desperately wished his body would flee. Just as fast and hard as he could. He couldn't stay. He couldn't. He would die if he stayed. He didn't want to die, so why wasn't he moving? 

"Times up, Harry Potter." 


	6. Fear

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead   
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Tom and Draco/Ron (i think that will be all....)   
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _i am not for children_   
**Rating:** R   
**Part:** 06/??  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Another shorter then my usual chapter, I believe (I usually write 3 or 4 pages and this is only 2 pages). What I don't have in length, I believe I have a ton with interesting stuff. Enjoy. 

Again, he couldn't breath. 

It was almost like the time he had been washing dishes and Dudley had come up and shoved his head into the soapy water. He had swallowed some and it made breathing hard for a while. He had half expected to cough up bubbles or something of the sort. 

It was almost like that. 

Just without the soapy water, the laughing cousin and the chore to do. 

He felt colder then he had ever felt before. It was like he was sweating little cubes that slid downwards. He could feel his muscles twitch and his skin shiver. He though his fingers must be blue from the cold he was feeling. 

His fingers clenched tighter at the fabric of his cloak near his throat. He kept his hand pressed against his skin, just in case one of the men before him decided to go for a kill (which, if he had been thinking more clearly, he wouldn't have thought since true wizards never use their hands). 

He shook as the men stepped closer. 

The urge to curl up into a little ball was there in his gut, while his mind still screamed _RUN RUN RUN_. Both of those feelings seemed to make sense. He just didn't know which one to do. 

He almost whimpered. 

Maybe he did. There was a roar in his ears as HE stepped forward. For the life of him he couldn't summon the courage his house was famous for. Every other time before this, he could. But not now. Not when the enemy was too close and too...too....un-ugly. 

Shouldn't the evil one be ugly, after all? 

He knew he yelped when HE reached out and grabbed the cloak. He let out a cry as the fabric was ripped from his fingers and he was really revealed. He stood there, staring wide eyed at the cloak hanging from HIS hand. It was the only thing he really thought was protection. Now he was out in the open. 

The OPEN. 

He tried to will his feet to move, his mind still screaming _RUN RUN RUN_ with a panic that had not set into the rest of his body yet. He didn't move. 

Just stared. 

At long fingers holding his one and only protection. 

At expensive looking robes. 

At the grinning face of his enemy. 

He tried to sallow some of his fear, to ease some of the panic in his mind. It felt like a cold burning acid was being dripped down his spine, paralysing him completely so that his death would be easier. 

_Gonna die gonna die gonna die_

HE smiled wider and took another step forward. HE must have really enjoyed making his enemy become a deer-caught-in-the-headlights (though HE probably didn't even know what that was). 

"How the mighty become." 

He whimpered as a hand came up and gripped onto the flesh of his cheek. His scar burned something terrible now, making him almost cry. But he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't lower himself anymore then he already was. 

"How easy they all fall." 

He gave a small cry of pain as blunt fingernails dug into the skin over his cheekbone and below his eye. He was sure he could feel little rivers of blood making their way down his face now, falling like the tears he wished he could release over his cold cheek. 

"How fast they become..." 

He expected the green light any time now. He expected a painful curse, or to be made to do whatever HE wanted. He expected cruelty and his death. 

He didn't expect to pass out. 

"Mine." 


	7. Rules

**Title:** Cinderella is Dead   
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Tom and Draco/Ron (I think that will be all....)   
**Warnings:** insanity? not the humor kind, but real insanity. angst, slash and sex. blood and morbid themes. _I am not for children_   
**Rating:** R   
**Part:** 07/??  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, need I have to say? The character have their rightful owners (who I am too lazy to name off), I'm just borrowing them for some one my little ideas.  
**Noted:** I don't have a beta, so forgive my errors. Just starting to write and I already have a backache. That's sick. I just came from doing some codes for fanlistings that I joined, so I guess I have reason to be sore. I'm not in the brightest mood though (its not the fanlistings faults, I adore them to death and I join 'em for fun) cause I found out I'm over my limit for my domain. That means that I have to delete a ton of stuff when I get home. :( oh well, that's life. 

He kept his eyes down. 

The smell told him that if he raised his field of vision just a little to look at the feet of the ones at the high table, he would be violently ill. The smell made his mind scream to look (_who is it? who is it?_) and not look (_don't let it be her. not her. not him. not anyone_). 

He would just keep his head down. 

The ground was safe. 

He almost wished that he were back where he had been hidden. There was no smells that made his mind scream there. There was no ache in the pit of his stomach at the thoughts of what he didn't want to see. There was nothing but the wait for his Master in where he had been hidden. He wanted that back. 

He hated the wait, but he preferred it to this. 

In his mind visions of a brown haired girl and a green eyed boy danced in his head. Also in his mind were visions of those same two in various stages of death, like hanging from the ceiling with vacant faces. Or lying at the Dark Lord's feet in a heap of his unfortunate peers. Or cut to pieces (there had been rumours of such muggle-like things happening). 

Or... 

Or... 

The horror in his mind made him shiver and shake. He tried to keep still as possible though. He didn't want to attract too much attention to himself; to do so could be dangerous to his health. He didn't want to embarrass his Master either with his fear. 

He was without anything, everything was given away. 

He pressed him lips firmly together and lowered his head more. Focusing on the rules of his existence could help him for now. Help him block out the scent hanging thickly in the air. Help him stay as small and non-existent as possible. 

Without anything. He wasn't allowed to possess anything; everything was passed to his Master. His name wasn't really his either. It was just signed onto paper when need be. He wasn't an 'it' though, those where house elves. He was just there. He was referred to as 'him', usually with a tone that implied that he was lower then the speaker. 

He didn't have emotions, just the actions his Master wanted (lesson one: keep emotions hidden and never voice your thoughts). 

He didn't have friends, just his Master (lesson two: Master is everything and friends are just an act). 

He had no future (part two of lesson two: JUST Master). 

He had no rights (lesson three: learn to bite your tongue without screaming or bleeding too much). 

He couldn't name his Master (lesson four: it was just Master, nothing else). 

He was, just was (lesson five: anything for Master, whatever his wish is, do it). 

"Don't block this out," a voice whispered in his ear. His Master. Master always talked to him like that. Quiet, so that not many people could hear what was being said. Master seemed to like the privacy of such talk, so he had liked it as well. "It'll hurt less later if you absorb it all now. Get through the shock." 

He wanted to shake his head. To say no. But he couldn't do that. He hadn't gotten permission to speak yet (lesson number six). He never got permission to speak out in the open anymore. 

"Look." 

He might have let out a whimper as the command came. He wanted to disobey, but it was too late to do something like that now. If he disobeyed now, he would embarrass Master greatly, and Master would be horrible displeased. 

He started to cry, as he fought to lift his head (it seemed, his body was fighting his Master). 

"Shh, it'll be okay," the voice murmured, a smile laced into the words. Fingers tapped his chin and forced his head to rise. "There, there..." 

He knew he was crying harder now, but his face felt numb. He breath came in small, choking like gasps. His throat tightened and he wanted to scream. He wished he could scream. But he wasn't allowed to scream. 

"The useless die," boomed a voice at the front. His vision was too blurry to tell who it was; he just knew they were dressed in black. "Be there anymore? Get rid of these, the Lord will not want blood on his shoes." He could see the motion of a kick and something flop at the man's feet. 

He looked down at what was being kicked. 

And almost sobbed one of those loud kinds of sobs. 

Somewhere in his mind he had convinced himself that his own family would be all right. They were purebloods after all, even if they were a little on the poor side sometimes. Surely, his sister wouldn't be touched in all this ugliness. 

_Noooooooooo_ wailed his mind. 

He cursed his eyes for focusing on this horror. Cause he saw one of the things he feared. The brown haired girl laid there, eyes open and blank. Lips parted, robes slightly torn. Her fingers looked just a little bit ink stained, like she had been in the library when it all happened. Beside her laid a red haired girl. Her face was pale, making her freckles stand out like a sore thumb. Her hair stuck against her forehead and her body lay on her side, almost turned away from him. 

His peers. 

Dead. 

His family. 

Dead. 

His friend. 

DEAD! 

He cried as quietly as he could, since it was the only thing he would be allowed to do. His Master wouldn't care if he cried; His master would enjoy it actually. Misery loves company, or something of the sort. 

"Let it sink," whispered his Master as he was wrapped in strangely strong arms. "See? Told you they'd leave you. Told you that one day, you would only have me. Never doubt your master." 

He cried against his Master's shoulder, clutching at the robe (but trying not to wrinkle it). He let his misery sink over him as he stared forward at the bodies. 

Then loud footsteps sounded and a progression of black dressed men entered the hall. They surround their horrid lord all the way up to the high table. There they parted and let their lord sit in what was once Dumbledore's chair (he wondered ideally, what had happened to the old man). 

The Dark Lord smiled and waves a hand to the side. 

He bit his tongue hard not to scream at what came forward. 

Harry Potter. 


End file.
